


Entamaphobia

by SoulForAnime



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris Are Dead, Gay Richie Tozier, Gen, IT Chapter Two Compliant, Light Angst, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Richie Tozier Needs a Hug, Sad Gay Richie Tozier, the losers get tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29187351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulForAnime/pseuds/SoulForAnime
Summary: The surviving losers want to get tattoos to commemorate their trials and tribulations. Richie has some troubles figuring out what he wants written on him forever.------Written for the Hader Zine I was a part of!
Kudos: 6





	Entamaphobia

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This piece was written for a zine I was a part of, honoring the various roles of Bill Hader! (The Hilarious Adventures of a Deadbeat and Eccentric Rascal! Or, the Hader Zine lol) The inspiration was a little self indulgent as I'm a pretty big tattoo collector and have always had the idea of the losers wanting to get tattoos in some shape or form, then this happened! Obviously, the zine was focused on Bill Hader, so I didn't really incorporate Reddie into this, but I hope you enjoy regardless! Thanks!

Richie had never felt so many different emotions at once; on one hand, he was elated to just have somehow killed this clown that had tormented him and his friends for years, and on another hand, he’d just witnessed the death of one of his greatest friends. Richie thought he’d finished crying at the quarry, but now, as him and the rest of the losers sat at the bar in the Derry Town House, he couldn’t help but let a tear roll down his cheek.

The group poured themselves drinks and made a toast, “to the losers club.” Richie downed his shot and immediately poured another, as the rest of his friends looked at him with concern.

“I think we should do something,” Beverly tried to steer the conversation to somewhere more lighthearted, “you know, to commemorate- us. You know, our friendship, everything we’ve been through.” She patted Richie on the shoulder and gave him a sweet smile that felt familiar and pulled on his heart ambivalently. They all thought for a moment before spouting ideas at each other of things they could do to immortalize who they’d all grown up to be now.

“We could plant a tree, or some flowers? Make a garden somewhere we could all visit?” Mike suggested. They decided against it, as someone would be left responsible for caring for whatever they planted, and none of them had a green thumb.

“We could make a quilt! Each of us could get a square you know?” Beverly offered, but the problem arised that only one person would get to use quilt at a time- not to mention Beverly would be the only one capable of making it, so that idea was also out the window.

They continued to spitball ideas, and it got to the point where they’d been drinking long enough, and the conversation derailed where Richie suggested, “We should all get matching tattoos on our butts that say, “I fought a killer clown and all I got was this dumb tattoo!””

They all laughed off the idea before Bill takes an instant to think.

“Hey actually, tattoos wouldn’t be such a bad idea Rich. I mean not _that_ tattoo but something that represents us and who we are right now.” They let the idea hang in the air for a moment, all of them visibly thinking, their brows furrowed. Richie hadn’t ever been _opposed_ to the idea of tattoos, but he’d never really found something significant enough that he’d want to put on his body forever, but he figured this would be as perfect a time as any to do it- he just wasn’t sure what he’d get..

Almost instantly, the rest of the losers knew what they were going to get; Beverly wanted scissors, Bill wanted a quote stating, “Life is a verb, not a noun,” while Ben was looking to get cassette tape, and Mike a compass. While his friends talked about their ideas, Richie racked his brain trying to pick out the most significant little thing that could potentially make a good tattoo, but he still couldn’t come up with anything.

“What about you Rich?” Mike broke Richie’s train of thought. He stared blankly for a second before answering, “Uhhh, I’m not sure yet, guess I’ll have to sleep on it.” The rest of the gang took that as a cue that they should probably be heading to bed soon anyway, so they picked up their glasses and turned into their rooms for their last night in the town house.

Richie knew this probably shouldn’t be bothering him that much, but he also knew he wanted something meaningful and not just the first thing that popped into his head. He tried thinking about what brought him here and how he’d changed in the past 27 years, so he thought back to how he felt when he was 13.

Growing up, Richie always felt kind of _off_ when he compared himself to other people. Sure he had friends, and don’t get him wrong they were the greatest friends anyone could ever ask for, but no matter what, he always felt kind of lonely. Once he thought about it, he realized he tried to combat those negative feelings by trying to make people laugh, and sometimes it worked, and they did laugh and it made him feel good about himself; but other times, he figured he came off as annoying and crude, which did little to help his confidence. He always thought his feelings of loneliness and not fitting in were due to his fear of being left out and forgotten by everyone, but as he got a little older, he realized there was a little more to it than he thought.

Around the time he was 13, he started getting teased by the bullies at school for not only the way he looked, but they started saying things about the kind of people he liked. Richie never thought about if he liked boys, but the assumptions being made about him lead him to start thinking if he really was gay, and if that’s why he had trouble connecting to people around him. While all his other friends were talking about girls they liked, he felt stuck in his own isolated little world where relationships weren’t even a point of interest. Needless to say, he didn’t date much throughout high school, but that didn’t bother him too much as things got a little better once he graduated and moved out of Derry.

Moving across the country to try and make it in California was a big deal for Richie, but he knew if he didn’t try his hand at comedy there, he’d be miserable back at home, working some job he knew he’d hate. His first gig was at a shady dive bar on the outskirts of LA, people were smoking inside and he was pretty sure half the patrons were underage. Despite the crude nature of the bar, he felt optimistic about his material, so when people actually started cracking up at his jokes he felt greater than he ever had in his entire life. It might’ve been a little dramatic, but Richie finally thought he’d found his purpose, because making people laugh and making them happy like this while receiving this kind of attention on stage felt like something he was born to do. It made him forget all the mean names and punches he’d received back in his little hometown of Derry, Maine, because right now he was in Los Angeles, making people laugh with _his_ jokes. His early career in the comedy scene was probably when he was the happiest.

Once he’d started gaining fame, he felt he started to lose himself again; he always had people writing material for him, he was always working, not really getting to spend time with people who supported him like his fans. He started to feel disconnected again, like how he was with his friends when he was growing up in Derry, except now he felt even worse like he _should_ be happier than ever, he just wasn’t. He felt more like a puppet, doing comedy was now just a 9-5 rather than something that really made him happy. Meeting back up with the losers club after Mike called him made him realize how much he’d missed having a close connection to people like the losers had. But that didn’t take away his fears of being forgotten and abandoned, and most of all, coming out. He really needed something to push him to face his fears so he could actually live the life he was meant to.

Richie’s head hurt from thinking so much, and he still hadn’t gotten anywhere with any tattoo ideas, so he figured he’d call it a night and go to bed. He drifted off to sleep rather quickly, and directly into a dream.

He found himself standing in a dim hallway, filled to the ceiling with fog. The wallpaper was antiquated, peeling and faded. The scene was new, but felt familiar. He turned around and behind the fog were six figures that he could just make out as his friends, including Stan and Eddie-his eyes stung with tears. They made no attempt to walk towards him, so Richie turned back around and let his friends follow him down the seemingly endless hallway.

He walked for what felt like hours until he hit a wall; he took a few steps back when the fog in front of him started to clear to reveal 3 doors. His stomach flipped as he remembered the previous instances he was in this situation. This time, however, there was no writing in blood on the doors- just plain, dingy doors that still somehow felt threatening in his current situation.

Richie felt scared and alone before he remembered his friends who’d been behind him the whole time; he turned around just to make sure they were still there, and although he could barely make out who was who, he knew they were all there, and once he turned around again, he swore he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. This presence made him feel safe, even in this eerie hallway as he stood in front of the intimidating doors, hands shaking as he reached for the doorknob of one of the doors.

“What’re you afraid of?” Richie heard from the person standing next to him. He thought for a moment and came to the conclusion, what was he afraid of? Throughout his life, he’d been punched, called names, fought a killer clown _twice_ , and lost two of the greatest friends he’d ever known. There wasn’t anything that could be scarier than the things he’s faced in his life, because he knew he’s been through the worst of it. Even if there was something scarier than the things he’d been through, he also had to remember his friends were always right behind him. What was he afraid of?

He twisted the knob, threw the door open, and ran through the doorway when he shot awake. Richie’s sheets were soaked with sweat, and he couldn’t tell if he’d been crying in his sleep or not. Despite feeling physically gross (he’d have to take a shower ASAP), his dream had left him feeling hopeful and valiant. He had the support of his friends, who’d been there through the worst of it with him, and he was tired of being afraid, and most of all, he was ready to actually live his life and be happy.

His dream also left him with an idea for his tattoo.

The group decided they’d all meet back up in a few weeks in a more convenient location to get their tattoos, giving them some time to find a studio and artists together. The days leading up to their appointments, Richie was immensely nervous, but once the day finally came, he seemed more excited than anything. He even went first.

He hadn’t really talked about his idea to the rest of the gang, so when they saw the stencil, they were a bit curious. Richie tried to explain his reasoning behind his door tattoo, and how he had to do some “soul searching” to come up with it, and they all seemed impressed by how much thought went into it.

“So what do you think would be behind this door Rich?” Beverly joked as Richie sat in the chair. He laughed, “I don’t know, but I’m not afraid to find out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Although the zine is already out, a lot of the contributors have already posted their works on their socials so I hope you check them out! There were a lot of talented artists and writers for the zine!
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated, thanks! -S


End file.
